Sunday, December 22, 2013

I friend said they really enjoyed this last year. I thought I would repost it.It was cold and dark and as I walked
through my neighborhood I was scared. The weather was whipping against my body.It was the pressures of life and no one was
around to help. My clothes were tattered, hanging, and with my arms folded in
front of me, my head was down to keep winter off my face. Pushing, I seemed to
be searching for something but didn’t know what or why.Suddenly, a gust of wind lifted my
head and stopped me in my tracks. There, to my left was a snowman, a pleasant
Christmas decoration with a happy smile, but it upset me. “What? You’re mocking me, too?” I
yelled. You think everyone is happy at Christmas? Wipe that stupid smile off
your face!”

I reached back, to slap that carrot
nose and he came to life. I was taken aback. My eyes widened,
frighten, I stood still. The snowman removed his scarf, and
sticking out his hands, presented it for me to take. I backed up instead. He
then raised it, slightly, as if to say, “Here, it’s yours.” Cautiously, I took the steps toward
him and reached out, accepted the scarf, and quickly proceeded to wrap it
around my neck. His arm then moved and pointed down the street. I didn’t know
what to do so I dipped my head in gratitude and walked on following his
direction, once again, noticing the cracks on the broken sidewalk. Onward I trekked, again keeping
my head down to spare my face, when another gust of wind lifted it. There, next
to me were more decorations, these of a children’s choir with hymnals in hand, dressed in early 20th century Christmas clothes, bundled and warm.

This time the choir came alive, and
I jumped back as it began the song “Joy to The World,” the loud boisterous
rendition startling me. I smiled in amusement as the choir sang and watched
as a little girl removed her earmuffs and hand them to a little boy. The
little boy then removed his gloves and handed all the articles to me. Politely, he
said “Merry Christmas, sir,” and pointed down the street. Again, I dipped my head in
appreciation and moved on until I came to a house with decorations in the yard
depicting presents under a Christmas tree. One of the presents was lit brighter
than the others so I walked toward it, and written on the box was my name. I was
shocked. I thought, “This can’t be. This isn’t real. I’ve never cared about
these neighbors.” Suddenly, the box started moving and
I retreated. It shook, violently, as if ready to erupt and with a loud pop a large
“Jack in the Box,” popped out with a heavy overcoat in his out stretched arms.
I fell backwards to the ground. It scared the living daylights out of me. I took a moment, and on all fours, slowly
crept to the Jack in the Box. I grabbed the coat but this time started running,
putting the coat on as I went. When I was far enough away I slowed down now
nice and warm with my new scarf, gloves, earmuffs, and coat.

I couldn’t believe my luck. I was
ready to find more. I wanted more. What more can I get? Maybe, I can find that
snowman again, and get his hat, too. Walking again with my head held high,
in the distant down the street, I saw a house with what looked like more
decorations. This time I ran to it, elated that I would find more. As I got
closer, comprehending what was coming into view, I slowed my pace. I was
humbled when I realized it was a life-sized nativity scene complete with a
manger, Mary and Joseph beside it, the animals, wise men, all real, all alive
and to my astonishment the baby Jesus lying in that manger. The light upon him blinded
my eyes. I shielded them, now, feeling not worthy to receive him. Staring, I felt others, and upon
looking behind me saw a sea of people, all nationalities, admiring the beauty
of the light, the power of it, reminding me my gifts were his gifts to me. I walked toward it. I
reached my hand out slowly, wanting to touch the brightness, wanting to feel it's warmth, wanting to know if that light was my light. I was just about
to touch it when I felt my shoulders shake, and heard…

“Larry, Larry, wake up, you’re
having a dream.” Noticing I was in my room, I
realized it was my wife. “Are you all right?” she asked. “You
were dreaming.” “Yeah, Yeah, I’m OK… Man that was
weird. I was… talking to Christmas decorations… they were coming to life. Oh
man, that was strange.”“You scared me, Larry. You kept
screaming, “I’m not worthy. I’m not worthy.”“Really?”“Yeah.”“Wow… Well… I’m okay now… Go back to
sleep, honey.” “Don’t do that again,” she said
looking into my eyes.I smiled and trying to comfort said,
“I’m alright. I’m fine. I’m OK. Go back to sleep.”I rolled over, shut my eyes, and
tried to go back to sleep, but while remembering the dream, I thought about
all the wonderful things that I have in my life. My eyes opened again. I asked
the wall, “Am I worthy?”

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Montegut, LA-
World renowned, South Louisiana duck carver Jon Claude “Bill” Dufrene was found
dead in his Montegut, La. work shop early Saturday morning. No foul play is
expected but oddly noted was his prize carvings strategically displayed in order by
the years in which he achieved his premiere successes.

His wife of 51
years, Madeleine, said, “He had been feeling under the weather but when he got up Saturday,
everything seemed okay. I mean, he first was his ornery self but then I served
him his Captain Crunch. Oh, he loved Captain Crunch, being a Navy man for all
them years. I went check on him ‘bout 11:30 in the shed, for his lunch, and that’s
when I found him dead. I called the 911 but I think he was gone because he
always quickly turned off the TV when I came in. That and he had a sly, wicked smile
on his face.”

Jon Claude first received recognition
as a duck caller in West Monroe, Louisiana. He was a young friend with the now
famous Phillip Robertson of the Duck Commander Duck Calls and reality
television show Duck Dynasty. Rumor has it that at the state duck calling competition
as boys, Jon Claude was a clear winner, but Phillip got the first prize. When
the two young men were on stage to receive the blue and red ribbons a fight
ensued, Jon Claude taking an extreme shot to the mouth. Jon Claude’s lip was
split and required stitches. After removing those stitches, Jon Claude had a
massive scar and because of that injury he couldn’t achieve the sound he needed
to call ducks. Jon Claude bitterly quit the sport. Some say he would never be
the same.

But, the love of water fowl
hunting consumed him. He picked up a knife and paint brush and started to carve
while watching the PBS painter Bob Ross on TV, learning the strokes needed to
be “happy, happy, happy.” Something he coined on the microphone that night at
that fateful competition as a boy.

He started winning numerous
local, state, and national duck carving contests and in 1995 voted top five in
the world, his forte being the bill, thus, the nickname. His peers would say
that he always achieved the perfect duck bill. He was quoted after a long night of drinking at
BJ’s Lounge, “Man, it’s the part the duck talks with, damn it. The curves, the
seamless line into the face, you gotta get that right. Let’s say the duck
wanted to call people. He’d use a people call, right? But if his bill ain't
right, if he can't communicate, he can't speak to his people friends, his
buddies as a boy. Look, I love making all my special little birds but I can’t talk
to them, not the right way. Damn it, you don’t understand. I can’t use that telepathy.”

The locals loved him, too, always
going to shows and giving pointers, never too tired to speak to the young
people to inspire and keep the art of duck carving alive, and never too afraid
to take his prize carvings out in the field.

Jon Claude once said, “At
dawn, with the sun coming up, I like to look at my art work out on the pond. I
imagine they could fly, take off with the others that came in. Well, the one’s
that didn’t get shot. They would fly, high and away, and come back next year, my
friends that I created, with their perfect little bills. They’ll speak to me,
tell me of their adventures, and I’ll understand. Sometimes I cry at night
because I can’t answer their questions.”

About Me

From an an early age I knew what I wanted to do. I've done radio, TV, stand-up, the stage, opera, written plays, musicals, creative director for an arts an entertainment magazine, owned nightclubs and restaurants. I'm a terrible business man. I host the morning show on 96.7 KCIL, Houma, La. #RRBC